Revelations of Love, A Half-Elf's Reflections.
by Rika
Summary: A first-person look through the thoughts and memories of Arshes Nei, and her love for Darshu.


Revelations of Love, A Half-Elf's Reflections  
  
I was still young when the love was born...too young to even understand  
what was happening, really.. I'd seen it all of my short life, but no  
one'd ever shared it with me...given it to me. I was an easy recipient  
for beatings. I didn't fit in. No-one wanted to love me, to feel I was  
worth *some* measure of their damned affection. The bruises I wore were  
all they would grant me. That and their names. Freak... halfbreed...  
the very word halfelf was made to sound as shameful to my ears as any  
word could be, and I knew...I *knew*, that's what I was.  
  
Still, I shed tears when I was left behind. Maybe I was more like a  
bitch, another name they liked to call me. A dog, following faithfully  
after them, even though I got nothing for it but hurt. Or maybe it  
was just because I didn't know what else to do. What -do- you do when  
the only family you know abandons you in your childhood? Would anyone  
react differently? I don't know.  
  
I wandered. Lost. Confused. Hungry and dirty. And there, amidst  
a grove of trees, by a shimmering pool of crisp, clear water, I met  
-him-, he would become my father...my lover. I knew...something, then.  
I'd not seen him before, but somehow...somehow I *knew* he would be  
different. I approached him, and as he'd not noticed me yet, I clutched  
the cloak he wore and tugged, tugged as if this act of begging would solve  
every unhappiness my life had ever known. And he looked at me. Gods, how  
could I ever forget the way he looked at me! I don't know what he saw,  
in me, a filthy halfbreed urchin...but the look in his eyes could've torn  
apart my soul, if I was aware I had one then. It was so strangely  
curious...then interested...as if he saw something deep inside of me that  
he liked and wanted. Who'd ever wanted *me*? And when he reached out his  
hand - I almost cringed, I thought he'd hit me - he offered me something.  
I know, now, that he just found me a curiousity and an amusement, but..  
he offered me himself. He offered to take me with him, to be my caretaker.  
He -wanted- me to go with him. He wanted to take care of me.  
  
I didn't have to say a word. I gave my little hand to him, and he lifted  
me atop his shoulder. A poet would see the symbolism involved, as at that  
moment he lifted me above the life I'd known and into something better...  
but I'm not a poet. Just a half-elven woman who experienced joy, true joy,  
for the first time then.  
  
I grew older, but he never did. He stayed ever as handsome as when I'd  
first saw him, too young to feel stirrings, only a recoginition of it.  
And we loved, or I did. What he felt for me before then, I don't know.  
It may well be he saw me as a toy, as I know he considered me his  
property. I didn't mind, and I still don't. I loved him anyway, as  
my father. But the night he came to me, things changed...the solid  
entity I knew my love to be changed, into a flowing, blossoming thing  
that I couldn't control, and I didn't -want- to control...  
  
  
  
I was half asleep, the hot night air making me uncomfortable and restless,  
so I'd kicked my covers off. I heard him get up, and figured he'd go to  
the window and stare at the moon for awhile, as he sometimes did, but no.  
He came and watched me instead. I was nervous at first. It confused me.  
I'd seen him look at me many different ways, but tonight, *this* look, was  
different. Something I'd never seen before. And yet, I knew he wanted me  
again. He already had me, and so this confused me too. What did he want?  
  
"You're beautiful," he said. My eyes snapped shut and I felt something  
almost painful churn through my stomach. Was he really talking to me?  
  
"Yes," came his voice again, whispering across the quiet night to my  
sensitive ears, as if he heard the doubt and questioning in my heart.  
Tears welled in my eyes as swiftly as a lightning stroke, and I could've  
almost choked, so large did the lump in my throat feel. He couldn't mean  
it...could he?  
  
"I'm not..." I murmured. The words sounded so frail and helpless, like the  
little girl I no longer was. A lifetime of insecurities I'd always clutched  
to as facts vocalized themselves in that simple denial, and I expected him  
to tell me I was right. To tell me I was ugly, or scrawny, or anything.  
Anything but what he did.  
  
He squatted down next to me as I looked away, and stayed there for long  
moments, leaving my fears and my expectations hanging on his whims,   
dependent on him to resolve and clarify. I know this pleased him, he  
always liked being in control. And when he spoke again, it was simple  
repetition, but how sweet it sounded...I knew he meant it, whatever  
reason he had for saying it..  
  
I felt a warm blush creeping across my features; my ears felt like they  
were radiating heat, so flushed did I become. I didn't know how else to  
react, and so I stayed like that, curled to the side. Until his hand  
fell upon my bare shoulder, that merest touch sending something akin  
to a shock of the electricity I've grown so intimatly familiar with.  
  
I turned then, rolling onto my back - barely aware that the shortly cropped  
nightshirt I was wearing had ridden precariously high - and looked back up,  
facing him ...no... facing myself, and everything I'd always been told, and  
believed. To have them shattered once and for all with such a simple set  
of words:  
  
"Arshes...I love you."  
  
My name and three little words. I'd never dreamed of how much power they  
could hold over me. They *hurt*...not the sharp, stabbing pain I feared,  
or the lingering, churning disappointment that would've followed soon  
afterwards, but an uncontrolable aching in the very center of my gut.  
I realized right away that he meant more then just loving me as his  
daughter.  
  
But words failed me. They died in my throat, leaving me with only my blush  
and stammered beginnings to express myself to him. I wanted to tell him  
how he made me feel. I wanted to let him hear my fears dissolve in the  
warmth he'd suddenly injected into me. I wanted...  
  
It didn't matter. He knew. He saw it before I even really felt it myself.  
And as he laid down beside me, I knew what he wanted. I'd never thought  
much about it before, and suddenly my mind was dominated by it. Maybe I was  
just vulnerable then, and he played on that like the lute I played myself.  
It would've been so like him. But never mind that, I'd never been so aware  
of him as I was then.  
  
He was naked, as he usually was in private. I'd been accustomed to it ever  
since I knew him, but suddenly it seemed new. I was nervous, trembling.  
But I couldn't help but notice. He was so perfect...so smooth, and  
powerful...masculine. A welcome contrast to my soft femininity. I reached  
up, tentatively stroking a part of the snow-white mane of his hair,   
brushing it off his shoulder. He responded by pressing his fingers to my  
lips...I kissed them, he brought them back to his own...then leaned down,  
making the implied kiss real.   
  
  
After that, that single, sweet, intimate embrace of lips, I lost myself in  
a sweeping tide of actions and reactions, my conscious thought something  
hardly neccesary anymore. Things ran and flowed togather in a blur, time  
was lost to me. I knew nothing but the feelings and emotions invoked from  
deep within me, only vaguely aware of reality beyond the senses. We  
moved...at some point I was undressed, but I don't know when...the cool  
breeze through the window flowed over our bodies, providing the only  
counterpoint to the passion that was burning me, consuming my body like a  
flame. And the first, truly, sexual touches made upon me drew such sound  
from me..the feeling of his ever-so-skilled and gentle hands upon my bosom,  
surpressing the almost rebelliously hardened peaks upon that softness of  
mine.  
  
And the first coupling, as he lowered himself on, and into me...I cried  
out with such a storm of feelings behind me. I remember that moment, at  
least, with such sweet clarity that nothing could ever remove it from my  
mind. It hurt, a little, but more then that, it felt so good, so *right*.  
Like my entire existance began and ended with that single source of  
overwhelming pleasure inside me, filling me so warmly.. He didn't have to  
move. Just that joining was enough, But when he did...noone could've  
dreamed of such an exquisite, welcomed torture to bring upon me. The  
feeling of motion...of *him*, moving steadily within me...it was too  
much, and yet, I was so far beyond a breaking point. No release would  
come upon me for the sweet tensions building inside me, just an ever  
strengthening amount of them like growing pressure.  
  
Five minutes...five hours...I don't know how long I went on in this  
wonderful form of agony, but when I was finally freed...when those tensions  
burst and my release came to me like a thundering explosion...my voice  
and consciousness left me in a gasping cry, and a torrent of raw, primal  
sensations of pleasure I could never have prepared for. When the world  
faded from black, back into the warm blur of colors and feeling again,  
I knew he'd finished with me, and I was so afraid he'd just stand up and  
leave me empty and alone.  
  
But he didn't. And I fell into a true, deserved slumber in his arms.  
The absence of dreams was no loss to me, what could I have dreamed of,  
that I didn't now possess? I was a woman...loved...and wanted. The  
abandoned little girl inside me was no more. And my father, so selfish  
and arrogant, so gentle and caring..was now also my lover. For a hundred  
wonderful, fulfilled years more...  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
by Rika  
  
http://tnt.dynodns.net/~rika/  



End file.
